The Tales Of Strong Women
by la2319
Summary: The women and girls of the Harry Potter world decide to document a tiny part of their evergoing dramafilled lives. Now complete!
1. Chapter 1

The tale of** Ginny Weasley**

When I was a little girl, from my nappy days to the time I was nearly seven years old, I found extreme and unrelenting pleasure from hiding in the little cubbies around our house.

I loved places like the pantries, underneath tables and benches, inside cabinets, and beneath everyone's bed before they woke up in the morning.

But my all-time favorite was that one little, little place between my mother's bureau and the wall where only little, little, three-year-old girls can hide on their third birthday. That third birthday when, seven years later, I couldn't even remember what kind of cake it was that I smashed into my face that day.

I had been hiding there from all of the strange people, whom I would come to regard as my own kin, coming into my house, wishing me a 'happy birthday' and telling me they loved me.

I don't know if I had high-tailed it out of there because Fred and George had set my hair on fire and I could see them all laughing at the charred curls of what used to be red hair, or if it was because at three years old, it was very horrifying to have all these people saying the same three words over and over again, and not quite know what they meant.

When my parents had said 'I love you' to me, I thought it meant that they were very happy, or proud of me. But just then I had felt like it was some secret message they were holding over my thirty-inch-high head.

It probably _had_ been that my head smelled faintly of smoke, or even more simply just because I had tried only six times (unsuccessfully) to crawl back there and get comfortable, and seven was supposedly the luckiest number alive.

That's probably all I'll ever remember about my third birthday, feeling like a princess in my hiding place that no one else could get to, but it's my happiest memory, it's what powers my lioness patronus.

I had all sorts of little places that I grew out of, and I still check to make sure that I can't crawl back there just one more time.

I've never felt safer and when I was in one of my hiding spots, and now I just find it convenient to hide behind my brothers when I need to, since not many tables are high enough to seat a sixteen-year-old girl under them.

Although this doesn't work as well, when I'm encased in a hug from my family, it's a close second to the safety I felt when I was three years old. And now I'm not so scared when they tell me they love me, even when they say it like it'll be their last time. Because I know what it means now, and I don't have to hide from it anymore.

The tale of **Hermione Granger**

What my teeth-happy parents didn't understand was that I wasn't proving _anything_ to _anyone_.

Whenever they saw me hunched over a book, they would sigh and look at each other, and ask what I was reading. I would just get up and leave, knowing that as soon as I told them I was rereading Charles Dickens at age eight, they would probably rush me away to a mental institution.

I had taught myself to read at my not-so-tender age of four, had been reading Shakespearian plays since I was five, and had acquired a taste for Charles Dickens at the age of seven.

Books were my freedom. Rather than playing silly little games with silly little kids, I put my nose in a book and had an adventure that no game of 'hide and seek' could ever compare to.

My parents tried to get me interested in football and other sports, to no avail. I found no freedom in kicking around a little white ball. In fact, the How-To books about the game were much more interesting. In school they signed me up for plays, and band, and choruses left and right, but I was always getting kicked out for paying more attention to my latest book than what we were doing in class.

I was bored with Maths, tired of hearing about people shooting at each other across a battlefield, I wanted nothing to do with those flimsy paperbacks the schools tried to call literature.

And I was more than fed-up with all the stupid children who thought I was just showing off when I brought in my dictionary for show-and-tell. There had been only forty two out of the one thousand, seven hundred, eighty eight words in all that I had not yet learned or used.

So, when my Hogwarts letter came the summer before I started Junior High, I was slightly over the point of no return in happiness.

My parents thought it a cruel joke, but to my pleadings they amused me by searching for my Hogwarts' things. Slightly disheartened at the limited number of items (if any) found in muggle London, I swiftly broke away from my parents and found the famous Diagon Ally on my own.

Forgetting all about the muggle world, I sat for hours in every single book store I could find, reading about everything from goblin wars, to Harry Potter, to Arithmancy. Of course, after all of this, I knew all about Hogwarts, and my parents had reported me missing, but I was (if possible) even happier at the thought of arriving at Hogwarts via a magical train platform in less than two weeks. I knew then that books had always been, and will always be, my very best friends, even with the new ones I've gotten along the way.

The tale of **Luna Lovegood**

I've never had much to say, I suppose. Well, at least not after my mother died.

I feel it's my duty though, to protect people from these obvious creatures making my life horrible.

I've seen the way people look at me, but I'm not crazy. I know what killed my mother, and I know why. I just . . . I can't say it. My father refuses to believe anything I'll tell him concerning the matter, he says I don't have enough proof. Even though I saw it with my own eyes.

I'm not proud of being able to see the Thestrals, but once you've seen death itself it changes you terribly, and sometimes I regret being so curious about Mum's experiments.

She was beautiful, you know. Beautifully ditzy, the worst example of a blonde stereotype. Having been a Hufflepuff, I know she would have been disappointed that I didn't make it into her house, even though I begged the hat to make me my mother.

Because that's what she wanted. She wanted me to be just like her, no, not even just like her. She wanted me to _be_ her.

Daddy said she was sometimes too hard on me, but she did everything out of love. She told me that every time I cried, or every time I told her that I was sick of being her.

She'd say, 'You're sick of it? Are you sick of the love that we're giving you? Sick of the chances we're letting you have, all the privileges that _we _were denied as children?'

I never really understood how being her test subject was a privilege, I suppose she was referring to the enhancements she was making into my genes, the beautiful changes she created.

She was altering me.

Not like plastic surgery, not physically. Inside my mind, I was changing. Things like my favorite flavor of ice cream, the way I brushed my teeth, the very way I thought.

Eventually it was like there was something, or someone, there in my head, and I stopped complaining. Not out of choice, no, my heart was still protesting, but my head was nodding to all the wrong questions and my mind was telling me to do things I didn't know how

I don't regret being my mother's guinea pig, I think it kept me sheltered from the world, it taught me to live in a place where nothing mattered but what I thought. The thing in my head disappeared shortly after she died, but I don't think I'll ever be quite the same.

She only halfway succeeded in turning me into her. I still hate perfume, I can't take the smell. She loved it though, I remember she always smelled like lavender. In the six years that I knew her, never once would she go anyway without a fresh coat of perfume. It drove Daddy nuts, it did. But that's it. That's the only thing. Just one. That's my story.

The tale of **Nymphadora Tonks**

It happened first when I was four years old. My brother, now dead, was teasing me about how ragged and ugly my mouse brown hair looked, and I got angry. Next thing I knew, my hair was purple.

I thought at first that it was just early magic, my mother was a witch. But it kept happening, I learned to control it.

My mother called it my blessing, my brother called it my doom. Mum said he was jealous, but my father was always on his side. War of the sexes, Remus tells me with a smile. I can't smile though.

It sort of makes me wonder, if I'd never had these metamorphosing powers . . . if maybe we would have been just a little bit happier.

When I was eight years old my brother left to fight in the war, though he was only sixteen years old at the time.

I was so jealous; I wanted nothing more than to be free of all the fighting between my parents, between our whole family.

Saying goodbye was like hell. Both of us were still angry, both holding a grudge against the other. We had too much pride to forget all of it and hug.

So I slapped him and he left.

He died two months later.

For the first couple of months my hair was always black, my eyes always dark. But then I realized that I was still holding a grudge.

In a way, I was still jealous. My brother, being older, always got to do things I wasn't allowed, always did things first. It was laughable, me being jealous because he got to die first!

But I forgave myself, and more importantly, I forgave him. I know he loved me, I know I loved him. We were too proud to admit it.

At first, that was the same way with Remus. He sort of reminded me of my brother, but much more. After he blew me off, I got angry. And when he wanted to be friends, I was, once again, too proud to accept. I spiraled into depression, to the point that I was afraid to leave myself alone for fear of what I might do.

It was silly, stupid even. Looking back, I can't imagine what I would have done going through Dumbledore's death without having Remus right here with me. Mushy, I know, but us women can't seem to help it.

The tale of **Fleur Delacour**

When I was little, my favorite candies were lemon drops.

Mum always told me that I would get fat eating them, but I was always sucking on them when she wasn't looking.

It always helped me when Mum was being especially controlling. I was their prize child; smart, beautiful, when I was born they thought I might have been a full Veela.

Gabrielle was always angry; she wanted Mum to be proud of her. I wish she had been the prodigal daughter, and not me.

But when a lemon drop is in your mouth, you just close your eyes and feel it melt on your tongue, and everything is perfect. You're happy, and the world is brighter for those few minutes.

My friends would always smuggle them to me in purses, bags, the hems of my clothing, anywhere we could hide them that my mother wouldn't find them.

She caught me with them once, and I was beaten harder than ever before. Mum forced our stable boy to whip me. He felt so bad he gave me a lemon drop afterward when she left. That was when I was little, and since then I've grown a lot.

Now that I'm an adult, my mother can no longer control me, and she latches onto Gabrielle every chance she gets. I've started sending lemon drops to Gabby in every single one of my letters, and Bill has promised me that she can stay with us for a while over the summer.

So for now, all I have to worry about is my sister, but she's certainly a handful. But every now and then I have to remember what it was like to be a little girl, hiding in my room with lemon drops in my mouth.

The tale of **Gabrielle Delacour**

My sister is the perfect girl. She has brains, beauty, and everything she needs to be the best.

I didn't usually mind taking second to Fleur, but it just felt like she always had more than I did. More praise, more approval, more love from our mum. I guess that's all I ever wanted. I wanted to be better at just one thing.

Being the oldest, Fleur also gets to do things first. She had a boyfriend before I did, got her first kiss before me, she was allowed to do whatever she wanted because she was Mum's little angel.

I hate that I'm so jealous of my own sister, but I can't help it. Fleur isn't the homely one; she doesn't deserve to be married as much as I do.

She simply has looks, good grades. I know what it takes to be a wife, I can do all the things like laundry, and cleaning, and sewing, and cooking. Fleur, on the other hand, burns water and couldn't cook to save her own life.

When I say this, I always sound childish . . . but I've never felt like our parents love me. Daddy died before when I was five, Mum never really cared about me.

Fluer was their girl, everything she did right was accredited to them, everything I did right was unnoticed and uncared for.

I feel so horrible, jealous of my own sister. But I love her, and we're starting over. We're finally going to be a family, after all these years.

* * *

Hello all! 'Tis me, Laura.

I just wanted to say that this little ficlet is going to be mainly just Hermione and Ginny, because you know as the girls scatter it gets harder for them to send it back and forth among everyone to write in.

So, this isn't going to include anyone from the past (like Lilly or Petunia) but I'm hoping that I can write another one like this with some of the characters from the past (Lily, Petunia, Alice (Neville's mum) possibly even McGonagall).

But, for this fic, the main two are going to be Ginny & Hermione (sorry!) and at the end, there's a little bit of actual story.

Anyway, thanks for reading!!


	2. Chapter 2

Another tale of **Ginny's**

I kind of miss being a kid. I just want everything to be that easy again.

Six year olds don't have to worry about Voldemort, or the war. They don't have to think about boys or love or death. They don't have to wake up everyday with tears in their eyes because the one person they love is leaving in less than a week to defeat the most powerful wizard (besides Dumbledore) in the whole history of the world!

And, little girls don't have to worry about being forgiven when they blurt all of the points above to the love of their life.

When you're six, nothing is as embarrassing as it becomes when you're sixteen. When you continually put your elbow in the butter dish it isn't as funny to you as it was when you were eleven. Blushing is a damn pain in the arse, especially while talking to said love of your life.

And it especially sucks when he, all of you brothers, some of your brothers' friends, your parents, and the half of the Order that isn't your family are laughing hysterically at you after you stick your elbow in the butter dish continually, blush, and become so embarrassed you run to your room and write in your Memory Book.

I just want this to be over! I hate this war so much.

Not only has it torn my family apart, taken people I love, but it's ruining my life! The second Harry and I start to fit, he's taken away from me.

Maybe it's just selfishness. Maybe I just want him to stay because I still love him. But when he found out he had to leave he pushed away everything he could stand to live without, and I was one of those things.

Tonks has tried to say differently, 'He doesn't want you hurt,' she tells me.

Then he shouldn't have broken my heart. That hurts more than any Cruciatus curse ever could.

I'm more than that eleven year old girl with brown eyes brimming with tears because the great Boy-Who-Lived won't spare me a second glance. I'm more than the twelve year old, fretting about how Harry was going to go after some mad man named Sirius Black. I'm more than the thirteen year old, sending letters to my mummy because poor Harry is involved in the dangerous tournament. I'm more than the fourteen year old, giving up on any chance of being with him, any chance of making him love me. I'm more than the girl I was at Hogwarts, spending all of my time with him, nearly inseparable. I'm still in love with Harry, sure, but . . . it's more than just love, it's _magic_.

Another Tale of **Hermione's**

I suppose I first had a crush on Ronald when he saved me from the Troll.

I'd liked him before, eager as ever to make friends, but suddenly it was one of those annoying puppy dog crushes that you just can't let go.

As an eleven year old often knows, it was impossible for me to just love him then, unconditionally and forever, but I don't think that feeling ever went away.

In fourth year, I actually considered the fact that Ron might feel something for me as well, but then there was that whole mess with Viktor.

I never really felt like I was in love with Viktor, but he always made me feel like there was something to me besides the books and the smarts. It's so silly, but he made me feel like I could be pretty and still be behind Hogwarts, a History. Except that he couldn't really say my name right, that bugged me a bit. But he was a good listener.

That was the only time I felt I really deserved the argument Ron gave me later that night, the yelling I received. I sort of wish I had said yes to Ron and blown off Viktor.

I guess he was sort of retaliating with Lavender, although that stung more than anything I'd ever seen him do, and that includes the time he was bad-mouthing me, therefore causing me to need to be saved from the Troll.

I think the past year has been the most difficult time of our friendship, but we pulled through, and things are looking good on the relationship front for Ron and I.

At the moment, thought, I'm feeling rather bad for Ginny, as we're going to be leaving in six days.

I've seen the way Harry looks at her when he thinks no one's watching, the way his eyes soften. Ginny's just the same, Merlin bless her. They're so alike sometimes it scares me.

She looks at the journal more than any of us, of course it's charmed so she can only see her own entries. I think she needs it more than any us. We called it our Memory Book, our Past Book, but it's becoming more of a Journal of sorts, at least for me.

The girls have promised to send it to me every now and then, and when Voldemort's gone, or when we fill up the book, we'll read everyone's entries. Hopefully Voldemort will be gone first, but you never know. Harry seems to think it'll take him a lifetime.

All we can do is hope, it's the only thing we have left.

Another tale of **Tonks's**

There hasn't been an arrest in weeks and the Minister is making every auror work overtime whenever they're in. The world is so desperate for protection from something they didn't even believe was happening until last year.

I don't know all the details of what the trio is doing this summer after the wedding, but from Ginny's sketchy outline I know enough.

It's almost crazy to think of little, seventeen-year-old Harry going out and killing little bits of Voldemort's soul.

The emotional toll that the war is taking just makes me utterly speechless sometimes.

I watch Ginny as she silently cries while telling me about Harry, and her fears that he might never come back.

I watch as Harry grows restless here, itching to do what he's meant to ever since he found out who killed his parents.

I watch Molly and Arthur, so afraid to let Ron go, much less Ginny when she goes to them and begs for their permission, or at least blessing.

I watch as it becomes human instinct for each sibling to protect the one younger than him, and for all six to protect the littlest.

Everything is speeding up, like time is running away from us and it just won't stop no matter how much we plead, no matter the amount of tears we shed.

Do I want the war to be over? Hell, yes! Do I want to see Harry and Ginny's happily ever after? Hell, yes! But war does things to you, it changes you so drastically you look in the mirror and ask the person staring back who they are.

No one likes war. Especially when it's tearing hearts apart.


	3. Chapter 3

Yet another tale of **Ginny's**

Bill's wedding was today, I'm actually supposed to be at the reception now, considering it's in my own back yard.

I'm an awful bridesmaid. First, I refused to take Harry's arm walking down the aisle, and then when I was forced to by Bridezilla I nearly fell over had it not been for the exact person I had not wanted to be paired with.

Any of the other guys would have just let me land on my bum, but no. Harry Potter with those Quidditch reflexes and big muscles had to swoop in and save the day (or my arse from a lot of pain).

I also broke a heel while being forced to dance, once again, with the exact person I had begged not to be paired with. He had considerably improved his dancing skills, either that or Parvati had been exaggerating when she told everyone he couldn't dance half as well as an ogre.

I suppose I don't really have anyone to compare him to though, except my brothers and Neville, none of which are good at anything that involves being graceful.

So then I just yanked off the other heel and stormed away, very dramatically if I might say so myself.

Bridezilla was all huffy at first, but then she forced Gabrielle and Harry together, poor little Gabby. So unsuspecting of those big green eyes. I would have warned her if it wouldn't have ruined my exit.

She can take care of herself, she's much more sensible now. It's kind of nice having her here actually, she's the only one who will spare time to actually care an ounce as to what I'm doing.

Mum has always been busy with the wedding, Hermione with Ron and Harry, Tonks with her job and Remus, and even Luna is on vacation looking up some gigantic tree, trying to find some creature that doesn't exist.

I even tried flooing Parvati, just to have ashes kicked in my face through the fire. Apparently she doesn't forgive me for 'stealing' Harry last year. I fancied trying Cho just for the fun of seeing her shocked expression, but didn't want anymore damage done to myself.

So, yet again, I am wallowing in self-pity in my room, waiting for something that will help me escape from the boredom, oh, woe is me!

I don't even know what that means. This is pitiful.

**Ginny's** (again)

Hey! It's not like anyone else was here to bloody use it!

Hermione, my brother, and Mr. Git are off doing who knows what in who knows where (actually, I managed to worm Godric's Hollow out of said Git).

Fleur and Bill are on their honeymoon, all my other brothers are off minding their own bloody business, and Gabby has been shipped back home by Mrs. Delacour.

So now it's just me here, all alone with the garden gnomes. Mum hardly talks to me at all, somehow she blames me for letting Ron go with them. I never thought I'd miss the hectic times of wedding planning, but here we are!

Apparently the trio just up and left in the middle of the night, leaving a piece of paper that promised they would send letters every so often to tell us how they were doing, what was happening, etc. Yeah, right.

Knowing Harry he'll write the letter, seal it, and then just throw it in the rubbish bin or something because he doesn't have the strength to face my mother's wrath, even if only by letter. Honestly, the kid is going to try and defeat Voldewarts but he can't even write a stinking letter to my mum!

Or me for that matter!

I mean, since when have I become the enemy? Since when have I deserved this shunning that everyone seems to be giving me?

Bugger, bugger, bugger, BUGGER!

Stupid Harry! Stupid Mum! Stupid Voldemort!

I HATE this!

I'm being so damn dependent on a bloody book again! I've taken to carrying you around in my pocket, knowing that in another two seconds I'll need to write something else!

I'm sending you to Hermione first thing in the morning you little monster!

Another tale of **Hermione's**

Less than a week at Godric's Hollow and I'm already losing my mind.

I told Ron this and he told me it would take at least ten years to successfully get rid of the huge brain I've acquired. Laugh, laugh, Ronald.

All Harry does is study, practice, and yell. Every day, study, practice, yell, study, practice, yell, study, practice, yell.

Everything we do annoys him, sets him off on another lecture about how he _has_ to stay focused, really I think he wants to tell us about how he _has_ to have Ginny.

Ron knows it, I know it, everyone knows it but he just won't admit it! It bugs me so much that he just won't tell us what is really going on, because Harry is always like some puzzle that we have to figure out piece by piece.

At first I was worried about him and Ginny. She'd already been broken down by him before, unbeknownst to him.

I knew she would get her heart broken. She was finally getting over the hero, the Boy-Who-Lived, and then suddenly he was pulling her back into those green eyes, reeling her in like a fish.

Poor, innocent little Ginny. She didn't want all of this, she never asked for any of it. But, then again, neither did we.

She wants Harry so much, she wants him to want her so much, I'm almost positive she would do anything to the point of insanity to get him back, but he's stubborn.

They're both stubborn, Ginny's trying to pull him closer while Harry's trying to push her away. Especially in the last few days we were at the Burrow, she could feel him pushing and she just tried to pull harder and harder but in the end he won. Harry always wins.

She would sit with us, watch Harry and Ron play Chess, ask me what I was reading, anything to be included again. I missed having another girl around, but when Harry says no it's absolutely a no unless you want to have your head chewed off by the Boy-Who-Can-Yell-Himself-Hoarse.

I told him it was reckless, not letting anyone know where we would be. I told him he should tell someone he trusted, just conversationally. Little did I know the Prat would let it slip to the person who should know least; Ginny. I keep telling him that she'll be bursting down the door any minute of any day, but so far she hasn't turned up.

It's only a matter of time before the reckless side of Ginny takes over, and I expect the reckless side will have quite a bit to say to their ex-boyfriend.

And when that time comes, I completely intend to make Harry hear quite a lot of what Little Miss Reckless has to say to him. I just hope he's still conscious at the end . . .

**Ginny's**

Two weeks and I'm still sane.

Hermione's warned me not to do anything rash, for example, murdering Harry for leaving.

It's crossed my mind a couple times, but even if I did manage to find out where this Godric's Hollow place is, I'd have a hell of a time getting there by broom, and then I'd be grounded for the rest of my life not to mention probably going to Azkaban for using the Avada Kedavra.

So I've focused my energy in trying to get Remus and Professor McGonagall to let me join the Order since Hogwarts is officially closing, at least until Voldewarts is gone.

So far Remus said maybe, Tonks is persuading him, and McGonagall said no unless Remus says yes. So my life is in the hands of Tonks, and her ultimate powers of persuasion. She's got to have some pull, she's his fiancée for Merlin's sake.

If they both say yes, Mum won't be able to stop me. Well, at least I hope not.

Bill and Fleur are back from their honeymoon, the glowing gits. What's there to be happy about? Oh, that's right, they're practically shagging each nonstop every night. At least that's what I would do, if I were married . . . to Harry. Shagging heaven.

I had this dream last night, where I showed up at his door and just asked him to marry me. Just spontaneously popped the question. Dream-Harry said yes, of course (this is _my_ fantasy, people) and we ended up getting married and having like a billion little babies with red hair and green eyes. It was so weird.

I think it was because of the ice cream I ate.

I used to only eat the green M&Ms. I would never eat any other color, because green was my favorite. I guess it was just my conscious telling me that Harry and I were soul mates (yeah, right and I have a unicorn for a pet).

Ron always complained about me picking out all of the green ones, telling me to keep my grimy little fingers out of the candy dish. He transfigured my pillow into a toad after I wouldn't let him eat any green M&Ms, he was so angry.

I stopped eating them after I realized they looked like Harry's eyes, out of embarrassment I suppose. But now I have this terrible craving for green M&Ms. Crazy, I know.

I guess I'll just always be crazy.

**Hermione's**

Ginny sent me back a letter that said she was trying to join the Order, but of course Harry just had to be the one to get the letter, and read it. We never address letters anymore, for fear someone will start tracking the owls.

He got so angry he broke one of the vases I had so nicely arranged on the kitchen counter. This made _me_ miffed, and Ron had to be the one to intercept us. Harry just makes me so angry!

He's completely oblivious to the fact that all Ginny's trying to do is help! Right now she feels awful because everyone is out risking their lives and she's been asked to stay home and sit on her bum all day.

She's trying to do every little thing she can to help Harry, to impress him and show him that she can do everything that he can, and she'll probably die in the attempt.

No offense to Ginny, but she wouldn't last two days in Harry's shoes. She tends to attract a lot of trouble, and an awful lot of traps.

Harry, as usual, is blind to her meaning and just thinks this is some suicidal act to get his attention.

I almost wrote Ginny back to tell her to get here and kick Harry's arse, but I managed to refrain myself, and just told her to make sure her letters get to me personally.

Even as I'm doing this, Harry is writing to Remus and demanding that Ginny be turned down. I just hope that Remus says yes before he gets Harry's letter or there'll be no hope at all for Ginny.

I can sympathize with Harry at some level for wanting to keep Ginny safe, but he's going too far, he can't control her life. If he wants to give her up, he has to do it completely. It's her life, not his.


	4. Chapter 4

**Ginny**

I've been turned down. No explanation, nothing from Remus but a no.

All I know is that Remus got a letter from Harry and suddenly his mind was made up. I can't believe that git would tell him to say no!

For the love of Merlin can't he just let me live my life! He thinks everything I do is about him, and maybe it used to be but I'm my own person now and I can do whatever I want.

I'm going to talk to Remus today, try to get him to reconsider. I stole the letter, and would you imagine what it says?

_Remus,_

_I've heard recently that Ginny's being considered for the Order. I think you should seriously consider the fact that although she's competent, she's sixteen, naïve, innocent, and not capable of a lot of the things that are required to be part of the Order. I know Ginny, and she's not ready for this. She's completely going against what I asked of her, to stay out of trouble, and she's only trying to prove to me that she can do this. I'm asking you as James's son to say no, Remus_

_-Harry_

HOW DARE HE!

He played the best-friend's-son-card to get Remus to say no!

I am coming back with a vengeance, and I will not only be a part of the Order, I will be a member because it is what I think is right, and not because I'm trying to prove to some guy that I can fight!

I have two words to say: Bat-Bogey Hex.

I'm coming for you, Potter.

* * *

At four thirty in the morning rain was pouring down in Godric's Hollow. Not a soul was to be seen on the dead streets, every stray being was safely tucked away for the night.

Except one.

A sopping wet girl strode down the street with purpose, a determined look in her eye.

She held a broom tightly against her side in one hand, an odd accessory, and under her other arm was several soggy, ruined papers that could have possibly been maps before they were exposed to the rain.

Looking murderous as if she were the one who created thunder, she stepped onto the stoop of the house that had just gotten three new occupants a couple weeks ago.

Hair sticking to her forehead, she pounded on the door, waiting for a response on the other side.

Her body was shivering, shuddering uncontrollably from the cold water falling from the heavens. She had been cursing herself for not bringing her jacket for the past hour.

Her t-shirt was sticking tightly to her torso, the white becoming embarrassingly see-through, not that she cared. Her jeans were also soaked thoroughly and would be ruined without a doubt by the morning. Mud caked the bottom of them, and padded her trainers.

Then the door opened cautiously, the very person she'd come all this way for staring at her with emerald eyes.

He threw the door open and it made as sound as though it were being ripped off the hinges. It banged inside the small house, mirroring the anger going on inside of him.

They stood for a while, making him almost just as wet as she already was until she thought she could take it no longer.

Close to tears, she pushed past him into the hall.

Coming after her, her tugged her around by the shoulders and looked at the part of her face that wasn't covered with her stringy red hair.

"It took me thirty nine hours, eleven maps, and two collisions with the same tree to get here." She told him icily, jerking his hands off her shoulders.

"Hello to you too." Harry said coldly, and without warning, Ginny slugged him.


End file.
